


Entrapment

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Non-canonical to good purpose, Characters - Good use of minor character(s), Characters - OOC to good purpose, Fellowship of the Ring, Humor, Other - Freeform, Plot - Can't stop reading, Plot - Good pacing, Writing - Good use of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2003-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gathering

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

  
_In the Halls of Mandos:_  
  
The end of the great song had finally come about. The mysteries of what happened to mortals in the "beyond" would never be disclosed, but the Valar were feeling particularly ... festive. After all, it was not every eternity that one witnessed the end of everything. The great Hall of Mandos, being the largest enclosed hall in Valinor, had been decorated with great relish and no restraint. The doors had been thrown open to all: living and dead, mortal and immortal (though, save a few who had been involved in great doings over the ages, these tended to find opposite sides more to their liking). Old friends had spent the ... well, time was irrelevant here ... catching up, sharing old tales and hearing lively songs and new tales whilst tasting the wondrous foods and drinks of the Valar. There were a few, though, who, after much celebrating, had been storied into a corner, so to speak. On the Western side of the Hall - the side predominantly inhabited by the Eldar - stood a rather unlikely pair ignoring the odd stares in their direction by continuing an age-old game of trading barbs and insults. A golden-haired Elven Prince of Mirkwood had, having unwittingly uttered an old jest to a diminutive friend, been pounced upon with an old taunt. Old words quickly sprouted, germinating from seeds so long ago planted.  
  
"Need I remind you, Master Elf, of the tree-stump incident?"  
  
Stunned, the prince stammered before replying quickly "I ... I h-have no idea what you are speaking of, Master Dwarf. And you have no proof that my incident with a tree-stump was anything more than a figment of your imagination."  
  
Words spoken quickly. Too quickly. Too quickly to be retracted. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, as all sound in the hall stopped. His heart thudded in his ears, and his breath caught in his lungs as though trying to suck the words back in. Had he just said THAT?!?  
  
Thingol and Fëanor turned to Legolas in disbelief. Had they truly heard what their ears betold them? Perhaps it was a cruel figment of imagination. Had he truly said "a tree stump"??? Turning to each other, they both saw a group forming about them. Fëanor, looking over the left shoulder of Thingol towards the south wall of the great hall saw the approaching figures of Oropher accompanied by his son Thranduil. Thingol, who had turned to face Fëanor northwards, saw beyond Fëanor's right shoulder the figures of Elrond, his two sons Elladan and Elrohir, his two counsellors Glorfindel and Erestor, and Elrond's former lord Gil-Galad. All of the onlookers approached with a mixture of confusion and ill-concealed mirth upon their faces. They, too, had heard the mumbled words escaping from the Prince and acclaimed member of the nine walkers' lips.  
  
As the gathering crowd stood about the Prince, a voice rose up from it's outskirts. A head momentarily popped up, dropped down again, up again, down again. After three more attempts, Prince Imrahil rather abruptly pushed his way through the crowd to stand before the Prince. "I know I am only on this side on a technicality of blood, my lord" said the Prince of Dol Amroth, "but did I truly hear you correctly? A tree stump?!? Surely this is a tale that must be shared!" A chorus of agreement rose up about the Prince of Mirkwood, leaving him somewhat uneasy, as well as utterly embarrassed for having his private humiliation overheard HERE of all places. Valar knew THEY would never let him live this one down!  
  
"Verily, Imrahil, it is not! This matter is of no concern of yours. Any of you. Not for all the treasures of the world would I ever have that tale drawn up before me again. And I would thank you kindly for leaving it be." Turning on his heel (and finding himself walled in on all sides) he strode through the crowd with great agitation. Bewildered and amused, the group allowed him to pass, closing in once more around the stray dwarf as the flaxen-haired prince strode through and out of the hall.  
  
Nervously, the dwarf eyed the shades of great elves distrustfully, remembering well his learned history. Dark upon both sides of the page was the history of dealings between dwarves and elves. Just as one elf, a tall and daunting Noldorin, opened his mouth to utter the question burning all their lips the dwarf was whisked away by a figure all in white. Apologies were muttered and mumbled by a rather red-faced istari, with only a few words caught: "wrong side of the room"... "apologies" ... "stone hall" ... "axes"... "trees and elves" ... "wine" ... "orcs"... "should not mix". ... The rest trailed off, as the great wizard led the bewildered (but grateful) dwarf through a great door and was gone.  
  
And now there were six.  
  
The six remaining Fellowship members looked at one another from various points in the room. Without saying a word, they gathered together in one corner, ignoring the few curious looks they garnered, and set to work.  
  
"Well," said Pippin, "do any of you remember the best way to charm information out of an Elven Prince?" Aragorn muttered something inaudible, though words to the effect of "will be more difficult than the bloomin' Palantír" were gleaned. Boromir harrumphed, looked sideways, and then suggested "Long have we stood in this hall. By our patience have his secrets been kept safe. We all recall a certain night in the Hall of Fire when said-elf enjoyed Lord Elrond's favourite bottle a bit too much. We covered for him then. And convincing the Lord of Imladris that a stray squirrel had pilfered his treasured (and well-guarded) wine was no small feat. I think he owes us much! Why not use such knowledge against him?"  
  
"Nay, my friend, we cannot wield it."  
  
"Besides, that knowledge was forged in the friendships of Middle Earth, and only there could it be used," said a deep voice from behind. Six gulps echoed against the walls. "So that is what happened to my wine. Squirrels indeed. Estel, you have much to answer for, it would seem. Yet perhaps now you all might make amends. A new alliance is being forged between Elves and Men. If we could only find that dwarf Gimli..." Elrond shook his head in dismay over the last statement. "However," he continued, "together, perhaps we might pry the tale from him yet. Will you not all join us?"  
  
One does not refuse Elrond, son of Eärendil and Elwing. Especially when one is most recently found guilty of a most complex, unbelievable, and ultimately embarrassing fib. Especially when the weight of guilt is borne by six present (and two missing) members of a fellowship in which great faith had been endowed. It was a very meek remainder of the Fellowship of the Ring that followed Lord Elrond into the middle of the Hall once more.  
  
  
***

_As the six members were slinking off too hold their own counsel:_  
  
  
"Well," said Elrohir, looking upon his brother with a twisted grin. "That was rather uncharacteristically adamant for our young Prince."

"Truly, brother. One would think he were hiding something from us," answered Elladan. Their grin, though it had caused many to quiver in fear of great mischief for thousands of years, suddenly spread like fire upon dry plains.  
  
Elrond, once the stoic-faced lord of Imladris, now looked to his sons with a fire they had never seen in his eyes before. "Well, then. Legolas said he could not be swayed by all the treasures of the world. Perhaps we should conjure up something more than the treasures of the world to present to our dear friend. ... " He let the idea trail off for greater effect. The intended effect, of course, was to invite all the collective imaginations to run amok. The twin sons of Elrond and Celebrían gazed at their father in stunned silence, a light of awe and amazement spreading across their faces slowly to be replaced by one of pure, delightful, almost-malicious mischief. "Oh, this will be good," said their minds in tandem.  
  
"I shall see what our six friends are conjuring up, and perhaps together we might find a way to persuade this tale from the Prince yet. My sons, seek out all the members and attendants of the house of Thranduil. Oh, and bring Oropher. Doubtless he knows many tales of Thranduil's own antics that may prove...instrumental in convincing Thranduil to join us. As if Thranduil will have any reservations on this one. Ah yes, and do not forget to invite Master Tanglinna, for he will assuredly have something to say on this matter. While we are at it - Imrahil, would you kindly invite Éomer, Théoden, Éowyn, Denethor, Faramir to join us. They have all suffered the pranks of Legolas at one point or another, either here or on Middle Earth. Finally the Prince's New Year's penchant for pranks is coming round on him." The twins bowed ceremoniously, with great mischief emanating from their slender frames, and turned about the Hall seeking their prey. Elrond himself sought out the six Fellowship members whilst Imrahil, grinning, turned to seek out the members of the Houses of Théoden and Denethor.  
  
As they were wandering off, Galadriel and Celeborn, accompanied by their daughter Celebrían and granddaughter Arwen, approached the remaining crowd. Galadriel, with a calm and eerily-omnipotent smile begged the questions "what plots are being woven here? Surely we are not to be excluded. Particularly if the target is Legolas. I recall a New Years festival many ages ago when my mirror and stream ran with purple bubbles. I will not be left out in this matter."  
  
"Nor I, grandmother. Though I bear Legolas no ill-will, I recall a very young elfling prince trying, pitifully unsuccessfully, to plait my hair."  
  
"I cannot claim any grievance against the Prince myself, but I am curious to know about this tree-stump," said Celebrían as Celeborn nodded in agreement.  
  
"And I would not see too much harm come to him by all your scheming," said the Lord of Lórien "and will endeavour to add a cool head to the group."  
  
And so the crowds, who had left off the celebrations for a more productive form of entertainment, began to grow. And grow. And scheme.


	2. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

The Truly-Last Alliance of Men and Elves was forming, complemented here and there by scattered representatives of all the various free peoples of Middle Earth. Yet battling pride, ego, social status, loyalty and hunger is no meagre feat.

"No, Mr. Strider, sir, I won't take part in trickin' 'im. It's not proper and it's not right. He's a friend. What's more, he's shown us all sorts of kindness and looked after us. I won't do it!"

"We're not asking you to hurt him, Sam. Merely engage him in a bit of friendly conversation about...about trees...errr...about gardening."

"He's right, Sam. All you need do is draw him back out here," said Frodo. "There's no harm in it. Besides, he's missing this feast. You'd be doing him a favour."

"Right, the sooner he's out..." said Merry, eagerly flanked by Pippin (who, at a barely audible murmur chimed in "And they focus on getting the story out,") "we can go back to those lovely little pastries!" A chorus of hobbit-sized stomachs (equal in expansion-capacity to the fabled Oliphaunts) growled in unison, joined, much to the dismay of it's owner, by Sam's own rebellious tummy.

Seeing Sam's faltering reluctance, and the quick glance he reverently paid to the pastry table in the corner farthest from him, Faramir quickly added, "No harm will befall him on our account. We promise." A chorus of agreement came from the gathered houses of Denethor (a rather large contingent, including many of the Ruling Stewards, many of whom had come to speak with Aragorn on a little matter of delayed entrances), and Théoden (composed mostly by those of the second line of kings, the first line having quiet debates with members of the House of Denethor about various bets placed on the year of Aragorn's return).

Sam turned towards the door with all the vigour and resolution he could muster. Taking large (for determined hobbits, at any rate) strides towards the door, he continued to convince himself of his purpose. "Right, then. Beggin' your pardon, but there's been a question burning in my mind about a certain set of roses he planted in the lady Arwen's garden. Just couldn't ever get 'em to root back in the Shire, without..."  
  
And with that, he was gone. An hour's worth of hobbit-priming had finally succeeded, and silent, thankful prayers were offered that no one else would have to commit to the task of retrieving the Prince.

"Right," said Elladan, "that wasn't too difficult." The glares he gathered were priceless. He silently took stock of those who would be winning this night's prize for best Dark-Lord (of any age) imitation.

Elrohir took in the situation a bit more readily, drawing the crowd's attention to the main issue at hand. "So what now?"

He was immediately replied by Elrohir. "We should take stock of what we have and what we will need to draw this tale out of him."

Millennia of practice in the delicate art of mischief made the twin sons of Elrond and Celebrían the apparent orchestrators, at least in their minds. Their minds started spinning in tandem, thinking what measures would be necessary to pry the tale from Legolas. Unfortunately, they had not counted on one fact: social decorum.

"And what, pray tell, makes two 'Half-elves' the authorities in such matters?" asked a rather put-out Amrod, with his twin nodding in adamant agreement and adding under his breath "they're not even half-elven at that." Amrod continued, saying "What could such decendents of that Edain thief possibly know about drawing out a Silvan or Sindarin Elf? Surely we, the sons of Fëanor, would be better trained for such a task."

If the flames in Elladan and Elrohir's eyes burned hot, they were dim compared to the fire in Eärendil's eyes, whose wrath was only just contained by the restraining arms of those around him. Yet before either could say ought, Elladan stepped in, drawling out in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "Yes, and we all know how you would 'draw out' the Prince. As we all recall what happened at Doriath, I think we would all wish to avoid the sacking of Valinor."

The brawl was swift, and the outcome timelessly predictable. Though the House of Fëanor, joined with a large contingent of Nolodrim, were powerful, they were well matched by the House of Fingolfin and the rest of the Noldor, along with many Sindar and Silvan elves. The battle would have lasted an eternity were it not for the muffled voice of one slightly-plump hobbit and the rather uncharacteristically adamant (and less than enthused) voice of an Elven Prince heard off in the far distance. The sound, though slight, was magnified by the carefully lain out halls until it was quite discernable. Once again, this age-old battle was interrupted by necessity. For a moment, at least.

"Oh, great. They will soon come, and we are no closer to a resolution."

"We would have been, had it not been for the over-zealous Fëanorians. How is it that they always manage to pop up just when things are going well and bring up those damned jewels," quipped Elladan.  
  
The battle resumed.

In the midst of the battle Elwë Singollo, who responded to a rather base reference from Caranthir connecting the use of Dwarven Caves and the union of his daughter with Beren by making an angry reference to Caranthir's ancestral descent from wargs (and, in particular, his resemblance to the aft-end of one) paused at a curious sound coming from beyond the fight. Looking up (and rather expecting another fist aimed at his head for his troubles) he noticed that the others had stopped fighting and were staring at a hunched figure at a table in the north east corner of the room. There, huddled over the bench, diligently carving away at a small gold band, sat Celebrimbor, muttering softly and picking away with his tools at something that gleamed in the candlelight.

"Oh, no you don't!" cried Aragorn, "We are NOT going through all that again!" _No tale is worth that!_ he thought, lunging lunged at Celebrimbor. In a rather comical and undignified fashion, he collided with one furry-footed, brown mop-haired hobbit. A mutual "oof" rang out in the hall, followed by a "Sorry" and an "ouch." Which belonged to whom was rather irrelevant, as both were equally justified in having made any (if not all) of the remarks.

And Celebrimbor, oblivious to the commotion behind him, studiously continued.


	3. The Plotting Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Nursing various bruises to bodies and egos, the gathered and somewhat uneasy alliance had finally come to one agreement: No one was to mention oaths, Silmarils, or lines of descent (particularly those relating to the darker races) again.

That agreed, they had also elected a moderator. None of the House of Fëanor would accept any human (or anyone connected to a family that had withheld a Silmaril or hindered the Fëanorian's in their quest, for that matter), and the Houses of Men represented were none too thrilled at having an Elven moderator. Pippin of the Hobbits stood eagerly before the assembled powers, and was readily accepted by all. His penchant for humour, creativity, mischief and an all-consuming hunger ensured that whatever methods adopted would be ingenious, colourful and quick.

Pippin started the talks, saying "What we need is to attack this from all angles..."  
  
"You will NOT be attacking my SON!" cried Thranduil.

"No, I meant attacking this problem, not attacking him, sir. What I meant was, well, what are the usual ways to get information from someone?"

"Blackmail?" suggested Denethor. The former Steward had already proven this night that seeing into the Dark Lord's mind had not been his only ambition with the Palantír when he let slip a few well-kept and personal secrets about important members of his household, family and Gondorian officials. The result had been a few muttered oaths, an increase in room temperature around the offended, and a considerable pool of dark looks. Prince Imrahil had been heard muttering "So that's what he was up to in the long dark nights."

"Torture?" offered a dark figure leaning against a wall. The suggestion came of a fell and shadowed voice. Standing fully upright, Angmar's once-powerful king moved slowly towards the group, followed by his retinue of Black Númenoreans. "It has its merits, even if some gathered here will not concede them. For instance, it has a wonderful potential to make..."

"We will not listen to the suggestions of one so tainted by the blood of the faithful!" cried Arveleg, son of Argeleb of the line of Kings amongst the Dúnedain. "Not after all the trouble you caused!" added Elrond, still hotly remembering the many slain friends, and the terrible stains made to his favourite hauberk.

"Go back to the shadows!" hissed Elendil.

To this, Merry cautiously mentioned something about avoiding copyright infringement and was pointedly ignored. The Witch-King and his contingent turned and stalked off, muttering dark oaths and calling Rhudaur, Lindon and Cardolan attempts at friendly conversation. They stomped all the way back to the darker southeastern corner of the Hall, returning from whence they came. This corner had earlier been "affectionately" called the Black Barrow by Merry and Pippin: a gathering of some of the more blackened, but no less infamous members of Middle Earth's history, including Ar-Pharazôum;n, many of the people of Rhudaur, most of the Haradrim lords, just about all those who had the word "Black" attached to their names, and the Artist-formerly-known-as-the-Mouth-Of-Sauron.

"Well, now that blackmail and torture are out of the way," said Pippin in an honest attempt to return to the crucial matters, with one eye twitching towards the pastry table, "shall we consider some **_practical_** means to extract this story, hmmm? Perhaps we should start by figuring out what Legolas responds best to."

Tanglinna, Master Archer of the Greenwood realm readily answered "Threats!" who gained a chorus of agreements from some members of the wooded realm, including King Thranduil.  
  
"Perhaps we might try merely asking him to honour us with the tale as a favour? Or in return for some other favour?" suggested Faramir, who's calm rationale was refreshing to many, including Aragorn, Elrond and Celeborn, whilst Théodred merely nodded his agreement, a sudden plan beginning to form in his mind.  
  
"Bribery" suggested Éomer. A great pause resounded in the Halls. "What?!? It always worked on my little sister. That," added Éomer with a wicked gleam that would send all sisters running for cover, "and threatening her imaginary 'knights-in-shining-armour-who-would-free-her-from-her-tower' friends."

Éowyn had to be restrained by Arwen, proving that a cold frost can be quite biting (not to mention kicking and scratching). As she calmed down once again, she looked once at Arwen, then at Lúthien and a cold gleam struck her eyes. With a meaningful second look at both women - one that conveyed her intentions wordlessly but wickedly - she suggested "Maybe we should simply charm the information from him." Aragorn, Faramir and Beren balked, gaped, and then choked in unison. But there was no denying the potential of such a plan.

Seeing the opportunity to move forward, Pippin once again seized the spotlight. "Then perhaps we should separate into groups and plan four main courses of action." Merry quickly picked up on the plan. "Bribery..." he said, pointing to the southern wall of the Hall.

Éomer shot a meaningful and annoyingly brotherly look at his sister, who merely stuck out her tongue in a most unladylike display of sisterly affection.

"...womanly wiles,..." Merry pointed towards the Western wall.

The ladies of the room simultaneously straightened their backs, rolled their shoulders and gracefully floated over to their assigned section of the room. There was a noted rise in temperature around the men, many of whom were thinking uncharitable thoughts about Legolas and his uncanny knack for attracting (and therefore detracting from the rest of the men) the ladies' attentions.

"...threats, but let's keep them clean, no low-blows please..." Merry continued, with a cautious finger lowered at the flower in the direction of the eastern wall. He was exceptionally mindfull not to point at the shadows leaning casually against it. They really did remind him of the Barrow Wights, afterall.

Thranduil and Tanglinna looked decidedly devious and calculating, a wicked gleam belying their calm exteriors. The Master Archer began to look like an owl who's feathers had been ruffled once too many times and who was about to go on the hunt.

"...and by offering to do, or reminding Legolas of, past favours." A final point to the northern wall was given, and the gathering began to mill and slowly filter to the four directions.


	4. Returning to the Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Meanwhile, Sam was having a difficult time weeding Legolas' ire to the point  
where he might return. Half an hour after finding the Prince, he had only just  
managed to calm Legolas to stand still, instead of pacing along a rather narrow  
and high-up (at least to the Hobbit's perspective) ledge that overlooked the  
Western cliffs and beach of Valinor.

_I might be able to get him to go back,_ thought Sam, _but bugger_  
if I'll be the one to get the tale from him. Would be fun, though. Me, getting  
that whopping great tale from 'im. But as the Gaffer always tells me, 'It's not  
up to you to make 'em bloom. You're just the one to make the ground nice and  
ready.'

"But Mr. Legolas..."

"Sam, out of curiousity, how long will it take you to call me just by my  
name?"

"Sir? ... Oh, err, Legolas? Right, sorry. But it's just a tale. We've got  
loads of 'em what'll make the cheeks rosy, so to speak. None more so than me. I  
could weave a good tale about those rascals Merry and Pip, no doubt. But the  
stories, they're of no harm. They just make people laugh. And with all we've  
seen, and now that everything's over and all, a laugh can't hurt, can it?"

 

Sam completely missed the sudden glimmer that sparked in Legolas' eyes.  
Chuckling briefly about a memory of some past indiscretion by Pippin, he also  
missed the decrease in Legolas' attention. Legolas, on the other hand, was  
suddenly swept by the gravity of what Sam had just admitted. Indeed, the  
gardener surely could spin some tales. But so could Legolas. Millennia of  
patient observation of others was not without its rewards, after all.

Sam just kept on doggedly trying to convince Legolas to return. "Besides,  
we...I mean you're missing all that wonderful food and drink." Suddenly,  
Sam realized how long this was taking, and that three very keen hobbits had  
been left behind near the pastry table. Could he be sure they would wait for  
him? Would there be anything left? A sudden intake of breath from Sam shook  
Legolas from his contemplations. The shock on Sam's face was easily read, and  
Legolas was quick to ease his companion's nerves.

"You're right, Sam. They know nothing, and there is little they can do  
about it. But we should not keep you from the celebrations. And it would be  
wrong to deny our friends. Besides, I have a suspicion that things are about to  
get rather...interesting."

Together, they walked through the many halls towards the Great Hall, talking  
calmly as old friends are wont to do. Their voices carried nicely through the  
hallways, giving plenty of warning to those plotting within. It did not matter  
to the Prince. Let them have their warning. It would avail them little. He now  
had a store of weapons as varied as memory itself.

_***_

Legolas entered through a door in the centre of the northern wall. He hoped  
that his entrance was not unnoticed. There seemed to be no change in the ambience of the room. No one swarmed  
over to him. Merry and Pippin quickly ran over to fetch Sam so that they might  
begin attacking the pastries, with naught but a quick greeting to Legolas. He  
casually convinced himself their eagerness was due to Sam's absence, and  
thought no more on the matter. He therefore missed the pointed looks and the  
sudden redness that swept over Sam's face, as he turned to scold Merry and  
Pippin and looked guiltily over his shoulder at the elf who was beginning to  
walk unsuspectingly through the crowd.

Legolas had managed to make it a mere yard past the door when he felt a stiff  
breeze sweep across his back. Turning suddenly, he stifled a groan in his  
throat, unintentionally (but effectively) turning it into a growl.

Barring the door stood a pair of kings, a steward and two princes, four of whom  
grinned unabashedly, and the fifth looked as apprehensive (if not desperate) as  
Legolas was beginning to feel. _So much for having entered unnoticed,_ thought Legolas, with no small measure of annoyance  
and anxiety.

"Legolas, my DEAR friend" drawled Aragorn. Having spent so much time  
in their company, Aragorn was doing a remarkably good imitation of Elladan and  
Elrohir's most sinister smirks, while at the same time trying (and not trying  
very hard, at that) to maintain an air of innocence that would fool no one.

Legolas, without hesitation, turned determinedly towards the southern exit at  
the other end of the room. Unfortunately, from that direction came Maglor,  
Maedhros, Olwë, Elwë and Beren. From the furthest West, Arwen and Lúthien began  
descending on him with uncommon grace and poise, leaving the company of  
Galadriel and Celebrían. Just to the North of them, came Elrond, Celeborn and  
Haldir. And from the East came the most dreaded group yet: Oropher, Thranduil,  
Tanglinna, and the sons of Elrond. He was effectively trapped. Too effectively.  
They were coming to him.

He grinned inwardly, while outwardly he exhibited all the wariness and  
apprehension of a trapped rabbit.

_Some will rue the night they chose to cross me._

 


	5. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Aragorn, Imrahil, Éomer, Faramir and Théodred had been the first to reach Legolas. The crowd around them continued to mill, but there was an underlying air of curiosity that told anyone observing that all were keenly listening.

"Legolas, I have known you for far too long for you to keep this from me," said Aragorn. "Surely, after all we have been through - all we have seen and done together - one story is not going to come between us?"

"Don't call me 'surely'," quipped the Prince.

"Come, come, Legolas. We are all friends here. What is one more misadventure between us?" asked Imrahil, to which Faramir added "it is not as though we haven't all suffered some indiscretion. Just look at Éomer." This earned a most colourful scowl from Éomer, while Aragorn merely chuckled softly. Théodred just stood quietly behind the three, remaining totally overlooked, as usual.

Recovering from his scowl, Éomer said "We ALL of us have past mistakes or misdeeds that we regret. Yet they are long since past. The ages have all dwindled to nothing. Mortals and immortals are reunited. Surel...sorry... Certainly our lives in Middle Earth are nothing more than memory. Why not then revel in our memories, laugh at our foibles..." ("Foibles?" mouthed Faramir to Aragorn, who merely shrugged, and turned as a sudden, amused cough spurted out of Imrahil) "and enjoy the good company, food and drink that has here been provided?"

"Here, here!" King, Prince and Steward raised their glasses, as Éomer handed a glass to Legolas and sipped readily of his wine.

Legolas sniffed at the wine suspiciously, before balancing it on fast-moving tray of glasses that passed him on its way round the Hall. He briefly considered the fleeing tray moving at waist height. It appeared almost to float upon a stout pair of unshod feet. Legolas let the seemingly unimportant matter go. Turning back to the royal ensemble, he said, simply, "No."

"Oh, come now. After all we have given between us? After all the help Imrahil and I gave you in Ithilien when you were establishing that colony?" implored Faramir.

"After I GAVE you Ithilien to establish that colony?" added Aragorn.

"Come now, gentlemen. It is most unbecoming to barter on past deeds. Especially when such deeds are an eternity ago. No, we must consider this more properly. Instead of reminding of past favours, we should be offering new favours to remind Legolas of our friendship. Come, friend. Surely...sorry. Perhaps I might entice the tale from you with that stallion you have been eyeing of late?"

Legolas quirked eyebrows in an almost comical imitation of his sire, and asked "You mean the one that belongs to Oromë?"

Éomer's face paled noticeably. "You mean that one is Oromë's mount? Erm, yes, well I am sure I could convince him to trade...err, maybe not. But I'm certain he must have other, similarly admirable mounts that I might obtain for you. If not, maybe I could offer you something else?"

"My discussions with your sister have taught me many things of you, Éomer..." It would have been impossible for the king of Rohan's face to become more pale. "But trying to bribe me with something that belongs solely to the Valar would have seemed quite beneath you. Then again, she did mention an occasion where you attempted to bribe her with the Sceptre of Annúminas to dissuade her from travelling to Gondor, for fear that she would meet a man that caught her fancy there."

Aragorn took on a rather dark look, saying "Oh, you did, did you?" Faramir looked positively scandalized. Théodred smirked cautiously, then thought better of it and continued to stand unnoticed.

However, Legolas was far from finished. He rounded on Aragorn, Imrahil and Faramir, saying "As for the aid gathered in Ithilien, and indeed being granted Ithilien in the first place, I thought that you two benefited quite well from that little venture. After all, Gondor gained in tax, military skills and teachings from the remaining elves of Ennor - not to mention all the agricultural goods produced from a land that would otherwise have remained fallow for many a year. And Emyn Arnen gained considerable protection from close proximity to the colony. Whereas I am sure Dol Amroth benefited most keenly from the products of our orchards. I have on occasion heard that our vintage was most favoured at the table of Imrahil. But perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps the establishment of the colony was for more _*altruistic *_ purposes. " Aragorn slouched somewhat, his earlier demeanour obviously deflated, while Faramir suddenly noticed the engrossing pattern that had been scuffed into the floor. Imrahil, on the other hand had become most intrigued by the walls.

With that, Legolas took his leave of the kings, princes and steward and headed for a small gap in the gathering crowds towards the East. Before he had taken more than three strides from their company, however, he felt a gentle hand placed on his shoulder. A moment thereafter, Théodred caught up to him, standing just to Legolas' side.

"Sir, I know we have had no cause to meet. If you would but hear me on a matter that is of considerable importance to me?"

Legolas was struck by a sudden sympathy for this Rohirrim Prince. Soft-spoken, Théodred's voice was nonetheless edged with a strength and vigour that belied any notion of timidity. Legolas heard in that voice a timbre of hidden boldness, and a wisdom that had been silenced too early in the young man's time on Middle Earth. Elf turned to man with compassion. "Of what would you ask me, sir?"

"Look, Legolas, from one Prince to another, can't you do me a favour? See this from my perspective. My only claim to favour in the weavings of Vairë is that I died with honour defending the Mark. Not that that isn't a great honour, one I would gladly repeat. But really, it's not very fair. I mean, I don't even get more than a few mentions in all the chronicles of Arda. But if I could get you to tell us this one tale, then my name and my relationship with my forebears could be amended. Otherwise, I face an eternity of 'This is Théodred, my son. Yes, Théodred. Yes, I had a son. He's the one who didn't do anything.' Honestly, can you imagine the torment of it all? No, I don't suppose you could. You're one of the Nine Walkers, after all. Your forebears all proclaim their kinship with you proudly, without any explanations or concessions or qualifications. But Please?!? I'll beg, if I must (it's not as if my name can be dragged any lower than oblivion)."

"I'm sorry Prince Théodred, but you know not what you ask of me. It is no small matter. The consequences of such a revalation would be most dire. Indeed, it seems the matter has now grown in proportion since that accursed dwarf let his tongue slip. It could be used against me throughout eternity. I would never escape. I sympathise, but you ask for your freedom from torment at too high a cost."


	6. Family Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Oropher spotted Legolas as he took leave of a rather dejected and disappointed Théodred and moved in, closely followed by his son Thranduil. "Grandson, will you not stop to have words with us. It has been long since we last had the opportunity to speak."

"Nay, grandfather. I know what you would ask of me, and I will not acquiesce to any here."

"I see personality is hereditary. You have inherited your grandmother's penchant for getting right to the point. In that case, I will concede, and avoid dawdling. We are kin, Legolas. Surely you cannot see us as a threat, nor suspect that we would use this information against you?" Oropher followed his grandon's gaze to the approaching Thranduil. "Ah, yes. Well, surely you would not see me in such terms?"

Legolas looked at his sire and then shook his head.

"We are merely curious, and concerned that your reputation might be endangered by keeping this a secret."

"I thank you for your concern, grandfather, but I would still keep this matter to myself."

"Perhaps you might agree to an exchange of tales?" questioned Oropher as Thranduil settled beside him.

Legolas contrived to make his face reflect surprise and interest, though he well knew that Oropher was known for attempting compromise in trade. After all, the stores of Dorwinion wine that were laid down in his time in the palace of Mirkwood would, under normal circumstances, have cost the kingdom its very sovereignty. It had, however, been bought for a far more acceptable (though still considerable) price.

"What form of exchange would you suggest, grandfather?"

"Oh, perhaps, between the two of us we could come to some arrangement" said Oropher, as he delicately draped one arm on Legolas' shoulders and steered him away from Thranduil. This maneuver was not lost on Thranduil, who followed closely behind, keeping within earshot. _This is my son, we are talking about, and it is a matter that closely concerns me. After all, my reputation, or that of my people or my family, may be at stake._ Such justifications seemed adequately legitimate to mask his amused curiosity.

Oropher, though fully aware of his son's following, proceeded to haggle with Legolas as they walked through the crowd. "Your tale is of great interest to me, Legolas. I would be willing to offer you many ... shall we say compromising... tales of your father's youth. There is a most delicious tale of your father, a mud pool and a gentile and beautiful young..."

"YOU MOST CERTAINLY SHALL NOT!" bellowed out Thranduil! "Father, you will not incriminate me thus, nor will I have you filling my son's head with such nonsense."

"Then again," whispered Oropher conspiratorially, "there is always a juicy tale of your father, a shrubbery and his mother's favourite flowerbed."

"FATHER! I insist you stop this foolishness!" Thranduil's voice, however, was at this point more imploring than insisting. This was a most unusual display, particularly for those who had not witnessed Oropher and Thranduil interact before. Even Tanglinna, the Master Archer who had served under both kings, was surprised that Thranduil would react so.

Tanglinna was not the only one to see Thranduil's discomfort as odd. Thranduil's mother, who remembered the incident with her flowers all too well, had the suspicison that there was more to the tale than she had been told. Suddenly, memories of quiet threats whispered from Oropher to a young Thranduil sprang into her mind, and she understood Thranduil's fears. Oropher had been using something about that incident against Thranduil for centuries." _Well,_ she thought, _that is going to end tonight!_

"Your offer has great merit, grandfather, and I would not turn down such an opportunity lightly. However, this matter is far too personal and costly for me to give it away so easily. Perhaps we might discuss your offers after the celebration. I am sure there are other tales worthy of such a price?"

"You would have done most excellently well in the markets of Dorwinion, grandson." Yet I can see this matter will not be pried so easily. At least not without great cost." This last remark set Legolas on his guard. Could his grandfather see his designs so easily Yet he did not seem about to interfere. Oropher gave Legolas a knowing smile, and tapped the bridge of his nose. No, he would not interfere. Oropher was going to enjoy this.

"Oropher, my dear," said Legolas' grandmother, voice dripping with impending doom, "I believe there is a matter that we must discuss."

Or, perhaps not. His wife using this tone was a sure sign he was not going to be enjoying anything for quite some time.

"Perhaps later then, grandson." He said, with no small measure of regret in his voice. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that would be mutually beneficial."

Legolas took his leave graciously and most gratefully of his grandparents, and was just about to pass through the crowds when a hand gripped his shoulder. Turning, he found himself before an elf brimming with authority, confidence and power. Unfortunately for the elven lord, Legolas knew this figure far too well.

"Son, I demand as both your father and your lord that you reveal to me this tale. Keeping such a matter secret from me could have devastating consequences. If anyone else were to gain such knowledge to use against us or our people, I would have no way of countering or defending us."

"Father, we are no longer in Greenwood the Great. Gaining knowledge of this incident would give no-one sway over "our" people. Besides, you are no longer the regent of a realm. We are all equals, here. It is a personal matter that I wish to keep to myself. Now, if you will excuse me, I would speak with my friends."

"Don't you turn your back on me!" Thranduil was attempting to use his renowned temper on Legolas. Not that the tactic had been entirely fruitless in the past. But it would not work to his benefit this time. _No, not this time, father. This is my turn!_ Legolas thought, still with his back to Thranduil.

"Don't you turn away! We are far from finished. You would deny me the right to defend my people, my family? That is not your decision to make. You will tell me of this incident so that _I_ may decide what is best for our family!"

A calculated step away from his father was all that was needed to send Thranduil into a barely controlled fury.

Voice rising above the murmurs of polite conversation in the Hall, Thranduil boomed out "Stand where you are! I did not change your swaddlings to have you treat me thus!" A few muffled coughs and a few less-discrete guffaws rang out, but Thranduil paid them no heed." Oropher, who had been standing by, raised his eyebrows at his son's declaration, but said nothing for the moment. He was rather busy trying to save himself from prolonged unpleasantness at the hands of his wife.

_Ah,_ thought Legolas, _now he tries the guilt trip. Three...two...one..._

"I brought you into this world, gave you all the opportunities and comforts that could be desired and this is how you treat me?!"

Thranduil had not seen his wife marching over as he chastised their son. Nor had he noticed how close she was when he bellowed out this last declaration.

Legolas had.

"YOU brought him into this world?!? As I recall, oh high and mighty King, you were as far from the room as could be made possible! You couldn't even stand one minute in our room that morning once my water broke! No, I seem to recall you turning rather quickly, with as pale a countenance as is possible in a living elf, and bolt for the wash basin. After that you had to be all but carried out of the room!" Now WHO brought Legolas into this world And as for changing his swaddling, I seem to recall various matters of state invariably getting in the way of fatherly responsibilities on this front. Oh, yes. You were very eager to play with the boy. You would have spoiled him rotten if I hadn't been around. But as soon as the cloths needed replacing, you handed him off to the nearest elf proclaiming matters of state and great urgency!"

Legolas beat a hasty retreat as Thranduil began turning various shades of red, and his mother continued her tirade. To all others within earshot (which encompassed a considerable distance) it would have been assumed that those in the Halls of Mandos did not need breath as they did upon the shores of Middle Earth. Oropher, having escaped the wrath of his wife, stood off to one side, thoroughly enjoying his son's discomfiture. _After all_ he thought, with a dark and wry sense of humour, _a father's revenge on his son is inevitably visited upon said son by his own designs._


	7. Enticement Gone Wickedly Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Chuckling at the henpecking his sires were enduring, Legolas made his way towards the western side of the Hall, hoping to get a bit of space for a moment. So far, his plan was working marvelously well, but his efforts would eventually tire him. Sipping from a goblet he managed to pinch from another fast moving tray, Legolas took a moment to breath. It was the only moment afforded to him, for at that time, Arwen and Lúthien strode up to Legolas. Immediately set on edge, Legolas wondered what devilry these two - fairest amongst the elves - could concoct and, more importantly, how he was to counter their plots.

"Dearest Legolas, it has been too long since we have seen you last," said Arwen. "It is good to see you well Arwen, Lúthien" Legolas said, inclining his head affectionately. "Can I do something for you two?"

Arwen slipped her arm through Legolas', though he had not offered it, and moved in closer, delicately her eyes against his shoulder as she delicately laid her head on it. Lúthien took the other arm, getting Legolas to look into her eyes. _The better for him to adore me with_ she thought, with an inward grin. Legolas found himself supporting the slight weight of the two ladies. "My dear Legolas," Lúthien began, "we have been hearing all sort of unkind rumour swirling through this Hall in your absence." Arwen took up the suggestion, saying "Please, it would comfort us greatly if you would set this matter to rest. Tell us what you could possibly have had to do with the Dwarf and a tree stump that would have everyone so riled. Surely you could tell us, we who would never turn such information against you."

A gentle pressure on his chest told the Prince that Lúthien had placed her hand there to further emphasise her "affection." Had he turned to the North, he would have seen quite the sight. Elladan and Elrohir were forcibly pinning Aragorn in place, whilst Finrod held Beren back. Both men had turned unseemly shades of green, and the oaths they spewed were mercifully drowned out by a sudden increase in the volume of the crowd's chatter. Fortunately for Legolas, he remained none-the-wiser.

"Alas, dear ladies, I can offer you no such comfort whilst I am so ... discomfited." _Discomfited,_ thought Legolas. _Perhaps in one sense of the term I am, but I am by NO means defeated in this battle, ladies. And I have been called 'dear' far too often this night._ Turning first to Arwen he said, "Undómiel, I do believe that your husband would take great offense to your _*lying*_ thus." Legolas let the implications fall like water from the word, letting the beautiful elf decipher whether he meant her physical position or her verbal insinuations. "And Lúthien, please do not pout, it is most unbecoming of you. I know both of you, from your sires and from your brothers" he continued, turning from Lúthien to Arwen, "and I know full well not only that, you are both capable of dealing with dangers and sorrows, but also that your hearts cannot be turned so easily. Therefore, I am sure you will take no lasting harm if I take my leave."

And with that, he was gone. Arwen and Lúthien turned to each other utterly stunned that their charms had done naught but further his resolve to withhold the tale. He could not have stunned them more had he physically dropped them on the floor. He had ... had...rejected them!?!

_They certainly named these two well,_ he thought wrily. _'Enchantress' and 'Noble-maiden'...well, at least one of the names was true. Noble, their intentions were not!_ Legolas thought, as he headed across the centre of the Hall towards the south eastern end. Once more, however, his path was blocked, as Olwë, Maedhros, Elwë and Maglor strode up to him. _Now what would make brothers of the truly-firstborn and the sons of Fëanor walk together this night, I wonder?_

"I know what it is you would ask of me," said Legolas in preemptive fashion, "but the answer is no."

"Good sir," countered Olwë, "you have not even heard our proposals yet. 'Twould be bad form and poor strategy to not even hear our offer."

"What would you suggest then?" Legolas' voice harboured no hope but fairly rang with resignation of the fact that there would be no stopping them this night. He was beginning to recognise the strategy. Attack over and over again before the subject had time to recover and form any strategy of their own, and to tire them beyond the ability to mount a prolonged defense. It was a technique often employed by the forces of Mirkwood. Their forces had also found it useful when fighting orcs, who were too stupid to develop strategy even if they had the time. It was a simple and highly practical tactic. Unfortunately for him, though, it was also extremely effective.

"My brother and I, and our companions, wished to offer you handsome rewards for this tale."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Legolas blandly asked "What?"

Ignoring the timbre of the prince's reply, Elwë spoke his offer first. "I know well of your friendship with the dwarf."

_It is a wonder he can make that one word sound so offensive_ thought Legolas rather detachedly.

"I have had much experience with their kind." Again, Elwë made no attempt to hide his disdain for Aulë's children. "I am willing to offer you practical knowledge for future dealings with them. For instance, I have heard you were cornered into visiting the caves along the eastern base of the Taniquetil. I know of many tricks on escaping Dwarven caves that might become..."

"I thank you, sir, but I am perfectly capable of evad...er, escap...er..." Legolas began to flush and fluster for an appropriate word, which given the company seemed rather needles. He finally settled on "Your offer, though generous, is unnecessary."

"Then, perhaps I could offer you a nice spot in Alqualondë to...recover from your time with Gimli?" offered Olwë.

"Again, my thanks, but no thanks." Turning expectantly to Maedhros, Legolas was somewhat unsettled when the son of Fëanor turned to his brother Maglor and grinned. Turning back to Legolas, he said "We could not help but notice your prowess with the maidens."

"I beg your pardon?"

"With the Nightingale of Doriath and the Evenstar of Lórien and Imladris. I thought perhaps I might be able to offer you something of a gift."

"Surely I have done nothing worthy of a gift from you, sir."

"Very well, then. Perhaps we should consider it more a payment for services rendered."

"What did you have in mind." It was less of a question than a statement in dread, but the suspicion and exasperation of his tone went unchallenged. Maedhros readily took a glass from a passing tray and sipped before saying, with straight face, "Well, perhaps you might delight us with the tale of your encounter with a tree stump." A malicious glee had crept into Maedhros' eyes at the mention. "And in return, I might offer you a small toy to make the nights more enjoyable. I certainly will not need them," he said, holding up his maimed arm. "After a while, one learns to adapt, to try new things."

"I am sure, sir, that I have no idea what you are talking about." _Nor do I particularly want to know!_ he mumbled off-side. "But I am not going to tell you any..."

"But surely you, with such success with the ladies would have use for these!" Maedhros reached into a bag and slowly revealed - complete with soft velvet lining and appearing well used and cared for - a pair of leather manacles.

No amount of foresight, expectaion or planning could have prepared Legolas for that revalation. Scarlet turned to crimson, then to purest snow as the full weight of Maedhros' suggestion hit him. He did not even attempt to politely decline. Legolas' mind raced, trying to think what response could be made. He thought, with growing detachment, that he would be unable to force his body to leave. Nor could he drive it to speak coherently. What could he make it do? What was expected of him? Sputtering seemed logical. Yes, sputtering would be the most expected and logical reaction. His mind came back down to his body, trying to grasp hold once again. But he found, much to his mind's surprise, that his body was well ahead.

Consonants and rather gutteral single syllables spewed forth for a few seconds before he could stammer (and squeak) a "N....No...No thanks!" and bolted away.

The beautiful tenor of Maglor's voice rose above the din in a brief but somber lament for the Prince of Mirkwood's departure. As the song rang out, Maedhros turned to Olwë and said, "You know, before the whole oath thing, Maglor was quite the chipper and mischievous one."

"Really?" asked Elwë, as he leaned between his brother and Maedhros.

As if in answer, the lament shifted smoothly into a comic ode to stubborn Silvan princes and the grace by which they fled.

"Yep, it's good to have you back, Maglor!" cried Maedhros, as the four burst into laughter. The blonde hair flitted in and out of the crowd towards the North West wall.


	8. Threats and a Balrog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Elrond and Celeborn found Legolas half cowering, half leaning on a table apparently trying to douse a foul taste (or thought) with a full glass of wine. Approaching the stricken elf, Elrond's concern rose.

"Are you well, Thranduilion?" Apparently Celeborn's concern had beaten Elrond's to the chase.

"I...I had a brief encounter with two sons of Fëanor."

There was a collective "Ah!" in response. Apparently that explanation served as perfect justification to those present. Legolas shuddered at the memory, and drained another cup.

"Then perhaps now is not a good time..." started Elrond.

Legolas quickly interceded. "No, I am recovered. Is there something you wished to speak of?" He wanted to get this over as soon as possible. And he was beginning to lose hold of his plans with the constant and disturbing attacks. He began to reach for another glass in preparation for the lords' bilateral onslaught.

"So, Legolas, what is this we hear about a tree stump?" Then, with a pointed and blatantly obvious look to Legolas' glass, Elrond added, "Ah! That reminds me of an incident in Imladris some time ago. As I recall, a young squirrel with a taste for wine found its way into my personal storeroom and emptied the last bottle of my favourite vintage, a bottle that had been lain down at the celebration of the establishment of Imladris. Do I have the story a'right?"

"Gulp!"

"That is odd," said Celeborn to Elrond, while his eyes remained unnervingly fixed on Legolas. "A like-minded squirrel found its way through two bottles of Dorwinion in Lórien. The result, as I recall, was the contamination of my Lady's precious mirror with purple bubbles." Celeborn looked to Elrond, saying "I was not aware that squirrels trafficked overmuch between our realms. Odd indeed!"

Simultaneously, the Lords of Imladris and Lórien glared at Legolas, who delicately placed his glass back onto the table. Clearing his throat and hoping his ears would regain their natural colour when all was said and done, he straightened his shoulders and said, in a rather high-pitched voice "'Tis an odd coincidence indeed, m'lords. But I am sure the offending creature was most remorseful and that the mornings after these incidents served as just punishment." Seeing a potential escape over Elrond's shoulder, Legolas cried out "Haldir!" and then, as though remembering to whom he had been speaking, he said "if you will excuse me, m'lords."

With that, he briskly sidestepped the two and strode over to Lórien's march-warden.

"You have to give him credit."

"Ay, I should have expected that from him. Did I ever tell you of the time he escaped Glorfindel after putting glue on Asfaloth's saddle?"

"No, do tell," said a third voice over Celeborn's shoulder. Glorfindel looked fit to slay a Balrog.

From the Black Barrows in the South East corner of the Hall, a voice of fire and shadow muttered "Oh, not again! Every bloomin' time he loses his temper..."

Meanwhile, having caught up to Haldir, Legolas sighed with relief. "Oh, Haldir. Thank you, my friend. You don't know what you have just saved me from."

With a pointed glance at Elrond and Celeborn, Haldir replied "Oh, I can guess." He had recognised the gleam in Elrond's eye when the two lords started walking towards Legolas at the table. He knew to be wary, for he had been the unfortunate subject of **that** look before. An incident involving Haldir's brothers, a well placed bucket of yellow paint, and a rather unamused (but very yellow) Lord of Lórien caused him to shudder. In a way, he had almost pitied Legolas. Almost.

"So, what's this I hear about a tree stump?"

"Oh, not you too!?!" begged Legolas in an exasperation-ladden voice.

"Come on. I'm your friend. Did you honestly think I wouldn't try?"

"No, I suppose not. So what are you going to threaten me with, beg or offer me?"

"Come again?"

"Aragorn, Éomer, Imrahil, Faramir, my grandfather, Olwë, and Elwë all offered me favours of a sort. Théodred begged me to tell him as a favour, Arwen and Lúthien offered...well, they offered me much" Legolas stated, the red of his ears glowing again. "Maglor, well Maglor didn't get a chance to offer me a song because Maedhros" Legolas shuddered at the memory, "and Elrond, Celeborn and my father threatened me with recollection of past transgressions and obligations to kin. With whom would you fall in?"

"My good friend, as that is what you are," Haldir's tone was sickeningly chummy, "let me assure you that I would neither bribe nor harass you." Legolas did not like where this was going. "I would merely ask you to remember our friendship. That, and the fact that I kept certain embarrassing facts from reaching your father. Facts, for instance, like how Mirkwood's prince was caught off-guard by a mere march-warden of Lórien."

_Did Legolas just growl? He actually growled!_ thought Haldir, as Legolas glared darkly at him.

"Indeed, **friend** " the Prince ground out, "perhaps one should be reminded that the 'good' lord Celeborn remains unaware as to just who ordered two bottles of water from the Morn Nen for one fine New Year's Eve celebration."

"You wouldn't d....Wait. How did you know about that?"  
  
With a satisfied smirk, Legolas turned away towards the South West, calling over his shoulder, "I didn't. Take care, **friend**!"


	9. Respect Your Elders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

Galadriel and Celebrían bided their time while their husbands and then Haldir tried to pry the tale of Legolas and the Tree Stump using intimidation and blackmail. "I did not expect they would be successful," remarked Galadriel.

"Indeed, thus far the young ladies seemed closest to winning it from him. Not that they really would have succeeded. They are truly amateurs at this, afterall. If one is to entice such a resourceful young elf as Legolas, one must be able to flaunt one's attributes appropriately, not in such a foolish, childish and wasteful fashion. After all, men appreciate a keen intellect and wit when it is complemented with an appealing physical side."

"It would have been better had they sat back and watched the true masters of this game."

"Oh, grandmother? And what game is that?" Arwen and Lúthien gracefully siddled up to Galadriel and Celebrían.

"Why, dearest Arwen, the affirmation of womanly wiles. Legolas would be far more affected by a more mature and powerful charm. And Arwen, it is most rude to snicker."

"Honestly, daughter. I thought I taught you to respect your elders and betters."  
Arwen could not help herself. Bending towards Lúthien's ear, she whispered "And we both know which of the two these are."

"By all means, honourable ladies," said Lúthien, trying unsuccessfully to keep her breath from hitching, "Please show us 'amateurs' how to play."

With one look to her daughter, Galadriel began to glide over to Legolas with the grace and hidden power of the tide, Celebrían following with the poise and strength of the seasons.

As Legolas took his leave of Haldir, who stood stone-still in shock, he glanced forward through the crowd. He could see waves of people parting, but could not as yet see the cause. It was, however, moving directly towards him. "I should have guessed I would only be afforded one breath before the next onslaught," he sighed.

The seas parted before him, and there stood, in all their majesty and daunting beauty, the ladies Galadriel and Celebrían. His stomach seemed to be struggling to reach the floor. Before the ladies could utter a word, however, Legolas looked over their shoulders to see Arwen and Lúthien smirking at him. Their manner seemed to suggest the expectation of entertainment. Looking back at the ladies before him, he felt his heart scream to a halt. Had Galadriel just batted her eyelids at him? _Oh, no. Not good. NOT good! Think fast, Greenleaf!_ his mind screamed. Seeing yet another passing tray, and thinking rather abstractly _How odd. These trays appear just when needed, and I am never able to see who carries them._ The thought, however, was cast aside as he struggled to come up with a good escape route.

"Good evening, Legolas! I am glad to see our husbands have not detained you with yet another boring account of history. Their recollections can get rather dull after a while."

"No, m'lady. Their recollections were ... pertinent, I suppose."

"Good, good. Now, tell me Thranduilion. When last you were in Lórien, you were fast becoming friends with Gimli Elvellon. Yet I have heard this night of many disagreements between you two, both in Ennor and after you brought him to Valinor. According to my grandchildren, you were oft heard trading barbs and insults."

"Lady Galadriel, our relationship is steadfast as the mallorn. Those insults were merely friendly banter, I assure you."

"I had hoped it was so, and yet I am concerned."  
  
 _Oh, here it comes,_ thought Legolas. "How so, m'lady?"

"If rumours be true, Gimli has this night endangered you with his implied tale." Brushing her finger lightly over his cheeck and along his jaw, the Lady Celebrían suggested "We would be willing to offer you our company this night, Legolas, if it would avail you some protection."

"In return, you might provide some ... entertainment" the Lady Galadriel added, her words but an airy whisper in his ear.

Legolas began a mantra in his mind: _She does not have the power of the ring. She does not have the power of the ring...she can no longer read minds. Can she?_ He gulped audibly for the second time that night, and cursed his reactions. Somewhat unsure if his voice would betray him, he said, "Qwah...ahem...What sort of entertainment did you have in mind, m'ladies?" _Damn voice!_

"Oh, nothing much. Perhaps you could recite a tale. I'm sure your adventures with Gimli produced quite a few interesting ones. Or even the tale of your encounter with the tree stump? What say you escort us to a more quiet room. We won't even mention it to any of the others. Not even Elrond or Celeborn." Where all those before them had made reference to the tale with ill-concealed humour, Galadriel and Celebrían managed to make the prospect quite...appealing. But the sudden reminder that the two ladies had husbands, and the sudden crawling feeling that made Legolas suspect at least one pair of eyes were boring daggers into his back brought Legolas to his senses.

"Alas, my ladies, I fear I must decline." Braking apart their proposal left him truly contrite. But getting on the bad side of Lords Elrond and Celeborn was not a thing to be taken lightly. Particularly when they had already threatened him once this night. Taking each lady's hand in turn, and chastely saying farewell, he managed to free himself from the spell of their company and walk rather dejectedly towards the East with dragging steps.

Both ladies turned towards the younger women and smirked. Galadriel inclined her head slightly to Celebrían and whispered, "We've still got it!"


	10. And So, In The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the ages, Legolas is haunted by an old taunt, and has to face all the peoples of Middle Earth. Of course, this would be a perfect situation for some long-deserved revenge!

A hand rested on Legolas' shoulder, and he resisted the urge to swat at it as  
he would a spider under the eaves of the Woodland Realm. In fact, he had to fight  
the urge to use a knife, like he would have used with some of the larger pests.

Turning, he faced mirror images of the same face. "Elladan and  
Elrohir" he said, mentally thinking that the word "pests" had  
been too light. These two had proved many times their prowess in the arts of  
mischief, particularly on various New Year's Eve celebrations in Minas Tirith  
after the War of the Ring. Yet beside them stood one with whom he was not  
acquainted.

"My dear elf, might I offer you some of these?" he identified the  
person standing before him as Elros, due to the elf-like stature but human skin  
tone. "I have heard they are a delicacy brought from another world by the  
Valar. I believe they called it choco'lat. Can I not entice you?"

Suspiciously but with good grace, Legolas thanked Elros and helped himself to  
one of the proffered morsels. He had to admit, the small rosettes of brown  
substance were surprisingly good. Almost addictive, he thought, as he reached  
for another.

Elladan (or was it Elrohir?), who still had not removed his hand from his  
friend's shoulder, said "Honestly, Legolas. You have been courted and  
counseled this night by more royals and nobles than are in a deck of  
cards!" The glee in Elrohir's face - or was it Elladan? The similarity really  
was infuriating at times - showed that they had been enjoying the prince's  
torment far too much.

"Indeed, brother, and they have all brought up very  
interesting reminiscences of our dear prince's youthful days. Actually, we have  
been enjoying recording and ferreting out further details. Your father and  
grandfather were true well-springs of information." Elrohir (was it he?)  
was quick to add "And as it was, we have long held information that would  
be most useful to us this night. It might even be of some value. Especially to  
you, Legolas. I dare say the Master Archer Tanglinna would truly enjoy learning  
just who it was that painted his hair green that most productive New Year's  
Eve, do you not agree brother?" Looking over to their left, the twins and  
Legolas saw the Master Archer speaking in earnest to Brethil, one of Legolas'  
oldest friends.

"Indeed. Such information would be most valuable. It would behoove our  
friend to ensure that such information was not forthcoming."

"What a good idea, brother." Then, turning to Legolas, he asked  
"Now what would you have that would ensure our lips were sealed?"

"A long knife. Or perhaps my bow. Then again, my fists would be quite  
effective as well, I imagine," said Legolas, but to little avail.

"No, no. That would never do. But there is a little tale you  
could..."

"No."

"No? Are you sure? Perhaps we should ask Master Tanglinna."

"Ah, but ***dear *** Elrohir" and he quickly added, just to be sure, "and Elladan. Master Tanglinna is already well aware of who put that green dye in his hair. After all, the twin sons of Elrond are well renowned for their herb lore. They would know exactly what plants could be used for what dyes. And as we were in Imladris at the time, the son of a king was instructed to be on his best behaviour. You see, ***dear *** friends, you were not the only one busy this night. As I recall, I might have accidentally let slip some crucial information about the event to my good friend Brethil in anticipation of any less-than-innocent maneuvers of yours." Indeed, Brethil had been prepped even ere Gimli had let slip about the tree stump. Legolas and his friend Tavor had felt that the twins were well due for some over-delayed retribution for past pranks. This made the impending approach of the Master Archer all the more sweet.

Tanglinna, meanwhile, was storming over towards the twins. Sensing his mood,  
the twins wisely decided it was best not to attempt a denial until the Master  
Archer had cooled down a bit. Watching them calmly flee his wrath, Legolas  
turned his attention back to the chocolates.

 

Elros, however, moved slightly back with a knowing grin. Yes, they were good.  
Addictive, even. Especially to one so stressed as Legolas. It was good to be  
the brother of the greatest and most learned herb-master in Middle Earth.  
"Now, my dear lord. Perhaps we might talk a while."

"Of what did you wish to speak, Lord Elros?" Legolas' eyes never left  
the tray of chocolates.

"I have heard that you had a brief encounter that has most of those here  
rather intrigued." Moving backwards slightly, Elros pulled the tray just  
out of polite reach of Legolas' hand. Oh, yes, chocolates were addictive.  
Perhaps he would finally be able to out-do his brother and earn a larger space  
on Vairë's tapestry.

Unfortunately for Elros, though, Celebrimbor, Beren, Finrod and Finwë chose  
that moment to walk up to Legolas. It seemed the crowd was growing impatient as  
the night was waning and a warm dawn light was spreading in from the eastern  
windows of the Hall. These three joined Elros and Legolas, who took the moment  
of distraction to reach and delicately grab another chocolate from the tray.

Celebrimbor took Legolas slightly aside, and whispered, "I have something  
here that might interest you, young one." He held a small gold band,  
intricately carved between Legolas and himself. Unfortunately, the ring's  
allure called to those around them. Recognising the whispered enticements,  
Finwë´, Beren and Finrod quickly grabbed the ring and Celebrimbor roughly,  
telling him in no uncertain terms that they were not going to allow another  
"incident" with a ring to happen. Celebrimbor stormed off in a huff,  
muttering darkly about "unappreciative hooligans not recognising  
potential.

"Dear Legolas," said Finwë´, "we were wondering if we might  
present you with an offer. You have a tale to tell, as all here know. We have  
something that surely even you could not deny."

With that, Beren delicately drew out from within a soft leather pouch a  
sparkling jewel the likes of which Legolas had never seen. Its sheer beauty  
drove any further thoughts of chocolate from his mind. Beren held it out in his  
palm as his two companions closed in around Legolas and the jewel, shielding  
the sight from the rest of the crowd. They would not let another ring of power  
be used. But apparently, they hand no such compunctions against the jewel in  
their hands. "A Silmaril?" Legolas whispered in awe. "Ay, a  
Silmaril" said Finwë´.

"But how did you get it?!?"

Finwë was quick to set the trap "Ah, but that would be telling. Though I  
would not grudge the tale, nor the gift, if you would reciprocate."  
Legolas looked deeply at the jewel. He stood paused, not committing himself in  
any way, but affecting a posture that suggested consideration.

Beren's enthusiasm, as Legolas had anticipated, drove him to commit a vital  
sin. He took what he mistook as awe and agreement, and committed to his tale  
before receiving any promise of reciprocation from Legolas. "After  
escaping with Lúthien, we fled back to her father. It took many months, and  
along the way we rested in the generous hospitality of a jewel-smith on the  
fringes of Doriath. When we finally reached the king's halls, I presented  
Thingol with a jewel to match his every expectation!"

Caught up in the excitement of finally releasing this long-held secret, Finwë´  
finished by saying "All that trouble afterwards and Beren had the real  
thing hidden away the whole time! Thingol never even checked it!"

"Did he not? Really, and here I thought the jewel I so carefully removed  
from your inner cloak lining whilst you seduced my daughter was the real thing.  
Hmmph, silly me."

With dread, Finwë and Beren turned to face the smirk on Elwë Singollo's lips.  
"Sorry to disappoint you, lads, but one does not marry a Maia without some  
caution and sensibility!"

"Well, they may contest the provenance of the one jewel," said Finwë,  
wrapping his arms around Legolas' shoulder, "but I wrought the things. I  
can offer you a real one, if you like, Legolas."

Coming up behind him at that moment were the sons of Fëanor, who snorted in  
grudging admiration of the King Thingol Singollo's keen eye and quick hand.  
Like others before them, they began to shower Legolas with offers of jewels,  
wealth, rich and lavish foods and wines if he would only reveal the tale.

"We will seek out even the blessed Silmarils, if it would be to your  
liking, Prince Legolas."

"Oh, no you don't!" rang the chorus. Finrod was the first to state,  
plainly and unequivocally, "We all remember what happened the last time.  
You will do no such thing!"

"I DON'T even WANT a Silmaril!" cried Legolas, but his voice was  
drowned out completely. This really was infuriating. _And just what do they  
see in the blasted things? _he thought, regarding the somewhat gaudy  
jewel over which Beren, Finwë and Elwë were still arguing.

The Hall had erupted into a cacophony of voices. They had failed while trying  
to attack Legolas piece-meal, and they now decided to attack him all at once.  
Offers, bribes and threats melted into one very loud argument. Throughout all  
this, those of the Black Barrow seemed eager to egg on some of the more  
notorious personalities who had, on some occasion, strayed towards their  
circle. Isildur, Boromir and even Saeros were particularly focused upon.

Where Saeros and Fingolfin goaded Legolas, challenging him to combat one on  
one, Brandir tried to befriend the Prince, offering counsel against the  
faithless and long cursed. But as was ever his fate, his counsels to Legolas  
went unheeded. Enerdhil offered to create another stone like Elessar, one that  
would forever capture the radiance of the sun on fairest flowers.  
Unfortunately, Celebrimbor heard this, and (being distracted from his attempts  
to woo Legolas with a jewel) challenged Enerdhil to a contest of creation. The  
collective gathering sighed in exasperation, before continuing their offensive.

Fingon threatened to unite his house against the prince. To that, Gil-Galad  
offered to form an alliance against the house of Fingon, while Glorfindel  
offered suggestions on how to convince the Valar that reincarnation really was  
a good idea. Even Finarfin tried to use a word of sympathy for Legolas  
struggles in Ithilien to extricate the tale from Legolas, though his words only  
melted into the overwhelming thunder of voices.

Legolas stood absolutely still. Not even the slightest tremor broke his tense  
form. And with all the commotion, no one noticed the danger.

Orodruin be damned. Legolas was about to explode.

As the fervour of conflict rose to an almost violent height, Legolas drew in a  
long breath and then, with a strength rarely seen from this normally mild and  
jovial elf, bellowed out **"E.N.O.U.G.H!"** style='font-weight:normal'>

The Hall was silent once more. But Legolas was far from finished.

"I will NOT reveal anything more. I will not concede to favours, threats,  
temptation, bribes, blackmail, nor to guilt or obligations to friends and  
family. If one more person so much as looks in my direction, calls me 'dear' or  
touches my shoulder one more time this night, so help me I will NOT be held  
accountable for my actions. Now SURELY you must all have something better to  
talk about after ages of history on Middle Earth?!?"

The silence that hung about him dragged on longer than it should have, and  
Legolas wryly thought _Well, I guess not._ With that, he headed for  
the Western-most door and stormed through it at a pace that practically dared  
someone to follow.

His footsteps rang back through the silent Hall. A few began to shift their  
weight, uneasy with the lengthy and empty silence.

"Well, it looks like our friend is more resistant than we thought"  
Said Elladan. "Oh, well. If he is truly unwilling to speak of it, perhaps  
we should seek out another who knows the tale. I have heard it said that there  
is one, a human female with a name fitting royalty who knows it. Perhaps she  
would be more accepting of our gifts..."

***

As all the crowds eagerly departed from the Hall in search of this young woman,  
four rather contented figures lay in a heap at the floor under an empty table.

"Well," said Frodo, "that kept them busy for a while.

Merry grunted in satisfaction and agreement. "All I know is, I'm worn out.  
I never want to weave through another crowd with a tray of wine glasses again.  
It was quite unnerving."

"At least you didn't have to lead him back in to all that" said Sam,  
licking at some icing on his thumb somewhat miserably.

"Pip, are there any more of those pastries left?"

"Nope. Not a crumb."

"Oh, well. No matter. I don't think I could eat any more without exploding."


End file.
